"I have given the matter but little thought," he said
at length. "They are but the accidents of my great
work. It is unfortunate that they are as they are, but
without them I could have never reached the perfection
that I am sure we are to find here," and he tapped
lovingly upon the heavy glass cover of the vat before
which he stood. "And this is but the beginning. There
can be no more mistakes now, though I doubt if we can
ever improve upon that which is so rapidly developing
here." Again he passed his long, slender hand
caressingly over the coffin-like vat at the head of
which was a placard bearing the words, NUMBER THIRTEEN.

"But the others, Professor!" insisted von Horn.
"We must decide. Already they have become a problem of no
small dimensions. Yesterday Number Five desired some
plantains that I had given to Number Seven. I tried to
reason with him, but, as you know, he is mentally
defective, and for answer he rushed at Number Seven to
tear the coveted morsel from him. The result was a
battle royal that might have put to shame two Bengal
tigers. Twelve is tractable and intelligent. With his
assistance and my bull whip I succeeded in separating
them before either was killed. Your greatest error was
in striving at first for such physical perfection. You
have overdone it, with the result that the court of
mystery is peopled by a dozen brutes of awful
muscularity, and scarcely enough brain among the dozen
to equip three properly."